


Detail

by connorsanto



Series: Details [1]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Character Study, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff and Smut, I'm Sorry, M/M, Porn with Feelings, everyone is 18, they do the do, unbeta'd: we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22246930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorsanto/pseuds/connorsanto
Summary: Watching Connor now, stretched out on his bed, boots in the air behind him and his nose in a book - The Call of the Wild - Evan was grateful he’d been let into this secret little world, to this little hideaway in the Murphys’ basement. Into Connor’s personal life.It had been an uphill battle to get here.
Relationships: Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Series: Details [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602175
Comments: 12
Kudos: 150





	Detail

Connor smells like incense and pot and cigarettes and maybe a little bit of cologne somewhere - like some masculine body spray, but it’s faint. Sometimes he smells like acrylic paint, but only on Sundays, when he works his magic on canvases.   
  
All of his sweatshirts and hoodies are soft, especially when Evan’s face is buried in his chest or his shoulder. They feel lived in, like they’ve been washed dozens of times, made plush by countless spins in the dryer. Evan can feel the sturdiness underneath, the lean muscle under the softness. It’s oddly grounding and too comfortable for words.  
  
His room is either immaculate or a mess - there is no in-between. Both seem oddly like Connor, in different ways. It smells smoky; incense and palo santo and cigarettes and marijuana all coming together in a delicious, sensual sort of mix that Evan never thought he’d find so attractive and calming and familiar. Books are piled neatly on desks, bookshelves, on his tidied bed with the navy throw pillows. They are never dog-eared; silver bookmarks with purple ribbons reside in each one. Connor once lent a book to an acquaintance and nearly had apoplexy when he realized the pages had been folded to mark their spots.  
  
_Never_ dog-ear Connor’s books.  
  
When it’s messy, there are piles of clothes on the floor - clean, but not put away, unsettled from being dug through for a specific shirt or pair of jeans. Glass pipes, ornately designed, lay on a tobacco seasoned dresser haphazardly. Often times, items are lost beneath the bed. Paintbrushes, made stiff with dried acrylic, lay scattered near unfinished skyscapes. Soda cans and half-filled water bottles sit like chess pieces on his bedside table.   
  
This is when Evan knows things are getting hard for Connor.  
  
There are universal constants: tapestries of mandalas in purple and grey and black pinned to the walls with thumbtacks, the fabric sagging slightly near the middle; posters of bands Evan never listened to; photographs of landscapes and cityscapes and galaxies taped and re-taped to the walls; soft purple lighting from each corner of the room; smooth, rounded crystals and candles and a mortar & pestle on a tiny table on the far side of the room, like a tiny altar (Connor had once joked that he worshipped Satan and cursed his enemies here). Multiple gaming systems, a modest laptop - stickered a million times over - and a television set mounted to the wall.  
  
And of course, we come back to Connor himself.  
Evan had always thought Connor was beautiful, even when first laying eyes on him.  
Not always in the conventional sense (but that, too).   
  
Connor was someone Evan would describe as ethereal. His hair was always tumbling down over his shoulders in waves, the color of espresso and just as invigorating. Soft. Sometimes he braided it near the front. Evan told him once it made him look like some sort of dark elf; Connor laughed at that for a few hours, off and on.   
  
His eyes were a pale shade of blue, almost silver; almost like ice with a deep ocean residing beneath. Connor’s eyes always reminded Evan of a Siberian Husky’s eyes. Piercing but usually belying a gentle calm, a loyalty that, once earned, was hard to shake. A fierceness, a ferality, lay just under the surface - and God help you if you pulled it to the top.   
  
God help you then.   
  
Connor always looked washed-out, pale, because of his clothing; always muted, dressed in greys and charcoals and blacks. Always with his boots, jeans tucked into them. Always with rings on each hand. Always with black hair ties resting around his thin wrists.  
  
Connor looked thin, but lean; looked like he could win in a lot of fistfights.   
He walked with the confidence of a fighter, for sure. A sort of saunter to his gait, a sort of sway in his hips; he walked tall, and he walked as if he owned the places he strode through. He walked like one impenetrable.  
  
Evan knew this to be untrue, knew it only after many months of earning Connor’s trust.   
_Posturing,_ Connor had called it after a long time of letting Evan believe it was his personality, that it was his natural confidence. _Posturing, putting up a tough front so that no one messes with me. I guess you’re not going to, huh?_ _  
__No,_ Evan had quickly replied. _No, of course not. I think you’re nice._ _  
__I think you’re nice, too,_ he had murmured quietly, as if he were telling a long-kept secret.  
  
Watching Connor now, stretched out on his bed, boots in the air behind him and his nose in a book - _The Call of the Wild_ \- Evan was grateful he’d been let into this secret little world, to this little hideaway in the Murphys’ basement. Into Connor’s personal life.  
  
It had been an uphill battle to get here.   
  
Connor was not a trusting nor open person. He was cynical; he was outright cold to most people. He was very quiet; very intelligent, something no one really could see about him from the outside. _Extremely_ intelligent. _A thinker,_ Evan had once explained to a bemused Connor, who tucked his hand under his chin and brought his knees to his chest, looking downward with a distinguished air. _Le Penseur,_ he’d replied, grinning.   
  
Connor was appreciative of anyone who could get past the exterior; appreciative of anyone who could last long enough to do so.  
  
Evan was just appreciative to be let in. It was a privilege with Connor.  
Evan was just appreciative to be able to lean over and kiss his cheek and to be regarded with a soft grin, with soft eyes; to make Connor slip the bookmark between his book’s pages and let it lay forgotten as the kiss was returned, to Evan’s lips, ten times less chaste and ten times more dizzying.   
  
“What’re you thinking about?” Connor asked against his lips in a whisper, resting his slender fingers in Evan’s hair.   
“You,” Evan replied.  
“Me.” A statement, almost disbelieving. “What _about_ me?”  
“Everything.”   
_“Everything?”_ Mischief in silver eyes; another sharp grin, and Evan was lying on his back under Connor, in a cloud of incense, hip to hip, nose to nose, caged between lean arms and long legs.   
Evan could only give the best bedroom eyes he could in response.  
Pleased, Connor gave a soft hum and leaned to kiss him again, his hair falling soft over Evan’s cheek. Trailed his lips, ever so softly, to Evan’s ear.  
“And what is _‘everything’,_ pray tell, my dearest?”   
  
Evan laughed, feeling his cheeks go warm with Connor’s affection.  
  
“Just - _mm_ \- just the way you are, with everybody, with - _ah_ -”  
Connor was giving little bites and kisses to his ear and resting his hips against Evan’s, which, _totally_ not fair. Evan was in the middle of a sentence and he was just _rudely_ interrupted.   
“With…?”  
“W-With me,” Evan ground out, trying to ignore Connor’s cool lips against his neck; trying to ignore the sound of his languid kisses, wet and soft and inviting.   
“The way I am with you?” Warm breath, an inquisitive flick of the tongue.  
_“God -_ yeah, the… the way you are…” It was getting harder to form a coherent response and Connor knew it, he _knew_ it, what a fucking _tease_ he was.   
A soft nip to his collarbone; a gentle, sensuous roll of his hips.   
“And how am I with you?” Always questioning, always thinking, even at the most _inopportune_ times.   
_“Good,”_ Evan breathed, without much thought. Connor laughed warmly into his shoulder.  
“Good?”  
_“Good. So_ good.”  
Connor gave another low, pleased hum - Evan felt him _smile_ against his skin before he rolled his hips once more. Evan couldn’t take any more and let his head fall back onto the comforter, giving Connor permission to do as he would with a shaky exhale.   
  
Connor was always a person that, when it came right down to it, did what he wanted _whenever_ he wanted.   
More kisses, more amorous by the moment, placed at Evan’s nape; his neck, his ear, his cheek.   
“Warm,” Evan whispered, really an observation more than anything. Connor laughed softly.   
“You are.” The cool of his left hand mapped Evan’s side under his shirt. Evan shivered.   
“Want this off,” Connor mumbled, tugging at it. “Take this off.”  
  
Evan leaned up to comply and Connor helped him out of it.  
It was tossed to Connor’s floor, which was free of laundry.  
  
Connor immediately rained soft, languid kisses over Evan’s shoulder to the center of his chest.  
Evan wondered if Connor could feel his heart pounding, feel it fluttering with the gentle traces of his tongue and teeth.   
“You’re so pretty,” Connor murmured, sitting up and straddling Evan’s hips, grinning at the soft moan Evan made as he did so. “How are you so _pretty,_ baby?”   
Said with such nonchalance, such levity; as if he wasn’t directly resting on Evan’s hard-on, making him breathe shallow and squirm underneath. Without discretion, Evan’s hands shot out to grasp Connor’s hips.   
  
Well, maybe it was harder for Connor to ignore than Evan thought.  
  
His eyes lidded, gleamed with hunger, and his smile fell away into a more predatory set of his jaw. Slowly, torturously, he ground down. Evan couldn’t help but cry out and grab harder at Connor’s hips - something he knew Connor couldn’t resist. Sure enough, another sensual roll; his eyes fluttered closed when Evan’s nails found his skin, just under the waistband of his jeans and over those prominent hip bones, and he let out a low hiss at the sting.  
“Feels so good,” He breathed; Evan watched him gulp, watched the pale column of his throat move oh so satisfying, watched his lips pull back to show his teeth, just a bit.   
  
They started a steady, needy rhythm; Connor dutifully rolling his hips, almost entrancing with the way his head fell forward and his breath came faster, the way his eyelashes pressed to his cheeks as his eyes closed and the way his mouth fell open just enough for Evan to see the smoke from the incense disturbed by his breathing.   
  
“You’re beautiful,” Evan whispered, uneven with his own soft panting. A flush spread high over Connor’s cheeks and he let out a quick, ragged moan. He brushed his hand through his hair, straight back.   
  
The braid done up so neatly in the front pushed back and fell forward again, loose and soft and pretty among the other strands.  
“Shush,” He breathed, and Evan couldn’t help but give an unsteady laugh. Connor returned it, his eyes fond, mouth quirking sideways in a hidden grin.  
  
He leaned down to kiss Evan again, kiss him breathless, before clambering down from Evan’s hips - which was deeply displeasing and Evan voiced this by a needy whimper straight from his chest.   
“Patience,” Connor mumbled, leaning forward to caress Evan’s hips and kiss over his sides, slowly, paced, almost like…  
“Like worship,” Evan laughed breathlessly, embarrassed immediately by the comparison.  
Where he was expecting Connor to laugh in return, instead he gave a deep hum and whispered,  
_“Exactly_ that. _Worship.”_  
  
And, well, what could Evan do but _moan_ unabashedly at that? At the very idea that Connor the Artist, Connor the Thinker, Connor the Quiet and the Perfect and the Ethereal would worship _him?_ _  
_ He didn’t have long to wonder; Connor was pulling the button to his pants, undoing the zipper, letting his left hand grip Evan’s thigh sturdy.   
Anticipatory whines slipped out and Connor paid them no mind, not in a way that was obvious.   
Almost immediately his mouth went to work and it was all Evan could do not to just _sob_ because God, was he _warm._  
Evan’s hands flew to Connor’s hair and he slanted his hips, arched his back, because by now he knew that Connor could take it.  
A deep, pleased rumble traveled through Connor’s chest and directly into Evan’s spine.  
No, not just take it; _enjoy_ it.   
Evan strengthened his grip on Connor’s hair, so soft in his hands; began a sharp, bucking rhythm of his hips and made the mistake of looking down.  
  
Cheeks and ears flushed pink, eyes squeezed shut, brows lifted and quirked almost as if he were confused or in pain but Evan knew better. Connor’s breath came in shallow, pleasured huffs through his nose; by now he’d begun to softly whimper with each jerk of Evan’s hips and moved his in tandem, discreetly digging the toes of his boots into the bedspread to find some kind of friction against the mattress. Evan tightened his grip further on Connor’s hair, guiding him carefully (but firmly) in time.   
  
His reward was Connor keening around him, pleasant vibration going, again, straight into Evan’s spine and up the back of his neck.   
Too much, the way he was _radiating_ desire. Evan felt like maybe this wouldn’t last for much longer until Connor pulled off of him and _again_ Evan had to let out a frustrated whine.   
  
Connor looked absolutely _fucked,_ with his hair a mess and a deep blush dusting his features, with the way he was panting and the way his eyes were hazed over, pupils blown.   
  
“I still say you’re beautiful,” Evan breathed, reaching out to stroke Connor’s cheek. Surprisingly, he leaned into Evan’s hand and gave a labored breath before sitting up and making a grab for the nightstand. He unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down slowly.   
  
Evan laughed lowly and immediately let out a knowing groan, grinning despite himself.  
Connor grinned back and took a condom between his teeth, ripping the wrapper in one clean motion.  
“Didn’t we, like… _just_ do this? This morning?” Evan looked up at Connor, giving the best teasing smirk he could as he rolled it on.  
“We did,” Connor replied conversationally, dropping the wrapper to the floor and uncapping the lubricant, applying it liberally. He gave some leisurely strokes, letting his head fall back, and Evan had to admit, it was a pretty picture - watching his chest fall in relief, listening to the soft moan slipping from his lips. Evan bit his lip, unable to keep from arching his back, unable to keep his eyes from wandering.   
“Which means…” Connor breathed, not bothering to stop. “That we won’t have to fuck around with prepping you.” At this, he slowed and gave Evan a wicked grin.   
“I’m all for it,” Evan replied, lying back and giving a _come hither_ gesture. Connor’s grin widened. “So, c’mere.”   
_“You_ c’mere.” Connor grabbed for Evan’s hips and pulled him quickly down the bed, directly to where he should be. Evan let out a surprised yelp.   
“So pushy,” He recovered.  
“You love it.”  
“I do.”   
  
Connor leaned forward to kiss him again, still so scented of cigarettes and marijuana that Evan swore he was getting a contact high. Connor slipped his tongue over Evan’s lip and Evan decided it was only the situation.  
  
“Roll over,” Connor whispered low.   
“What if I feel like being a brat about it?” Evan asked.  
Connor didn’t answer, didn’t need to; he took Evan by his shoulder, his hip, and forcibly flipped him onto his stomach. Evan barked a laugh.  
“I guess if you feel like being a brat, I’ll have to beat some sense into you,” Connor said, tone light, as if it was obvious. He let his hands, his fingertips, travel soothingly over Evan’s back before digging his nails in near Evan’s hips. The feeling shot through Evan like lightning and he compulsively arched his back. Connor laughed. “Besides, you’re physically _incapable_ of being a brat. Look how needy you are. All you want right now is to just lay back and _take it.”_ He said this through gritted teeth, tone low and hungry, and Evan couldn’t help but shudder.  
“I mean,” He breathed. “That’s very true, and I’d - _god -_ I’d like you to… to get on with it.”  
“As you wish.”   
  
Connor pulled Evan’s hips flush to his, pressing hard. Instinctively, Evan arched, digging his fingers into the comforter and burying his face into Connor’s pillows.   
Connor’s lips trailed down his spine, warm and so incredibly soft and teasing.  
“Feels really good,” Evan mumbled into the pillows.  
“Hm?”  
“Feels. Really. Go- _ah!”_ _  
_ “Still couldn’t catch that,” Connor teased as he bottomed out and immediately drew back to do it again, slow and steady. “One more time?”  
_“Feels so good,”_ Evan keened, grinding backwards. _“Fuck…”_ _  
_ “I’m trying, but you keep interrupting.” Punctuated by a harsh thrust of his hips and another cry from Evan.   
“You’re an _ass -”_ Another sharp buck of Connor’s hips, and then it became a rhythm, not just something to tease with. A hand was placed directly between Evan’s shoulder blades, pushing him straight down into the mattress as his thrusts became steady and rough and quick. _“Oh my god -”_ _  
_ “God’s not the one doing this to you,” Connor huffed, his breath coming down warm onto Evan’s back. _“I’m_ the one making you feel like this.”   
  
Evan could only moan hoarsely, because, really, what was the difference?   
  
“So,” Connor continued, letting his hands travel to Evan’s hips, guiding him back and forward. “Say my name.”   
  
A hot flush raced over Evan’s cheeks; a chill raced down his spine.  
  
“Connor, that’s _so_ fucking - _”_ _  
_ “Can’t hear you.” Dug his nails in.  
_“Connor -”_ _  
_ “Speak up, Evan.” Bottomed out, right there, _right there._ _  
__“Connor, fuck-!”_  
  
Connor hissed before letting out a deeply satisfied moan.  
_“Just_ like that.”  
Evan didn’t have any coherent words left in his pleasure-addled repertoire, opting to cling to the bed and run his own hands through his hair, whining and panting and _god,_ how could anyone _fuck_ like this? How could anyone set him on fire like this?   
_  
_ Connor was good at being precise; Connor was good at puzzles and at critical thinking and was a perfectionist when he was truly interested.  
  
And he was truly interested in Evan, it seemed, because that _spot,_ he was hitting it _every time,_ perfectly, making him cry out like some pornstar. He’d be embarrassed if he could think straight.   
And there was just enough friction from the mattress, _just enough -_ _  
_ “Connor, _god,_ I’m so close, please -”   
“Fuck -”  
_“Please-!”_  
  
Connor huffed and placed a hand in Evan’s hair, gripping it _just_ hard enough, quickening his pace, still hitting that spot with precision.  
“Come for me,” He moaned, low and breathless, letting out a soft whine just afterward, as if he was falling apart at the seams.  
  
Which, Evan certainly was. And if Connor’s sounds were anything to go on, he actually was, too.   
  
  
They both breathed hard for a moment, Evan slumping forward into the mattress (despite the gross wet spot he’d just made) and Connor resting on his haunches, panting like he’d run a marathon.  
“Jesus,” Connor coughed, letting his head fall forward onto Evan’s shoulder for a hot second before pulling back (and out, which was very uncomfortable every time and Evan made sure to voice this) and collapsing next to him on his back.   
“You can say that again,” Evan mumbled, not bothering to remove his face from the pillows.   
“Jesus.”   
  
Evan lifted his head and gave him The Look and Connor stifled a laugh, leaning forward to kiss Evan on the cheek.   
“I love you.”   
“I love you, too.”  
  
Connor grunted with effort, leaning forward and grabbing a cigarette from the nightstand and lighting it before reaching down to grab his book - which had landed open on the floor in the midst of things.  
_“No!”_ Connor cried, smoke puffing from his mouth in a comical cloud. Evan jumped to look, expecting it to be torn -  
  
But it was perfectly folded, right down the middle of a page.   
  
Something about this, about Connor, made Evan burst into laughter, letting his head fall back into the pillows, into the scent of incense and palo santo and pot.   
He could hear Connor take an angry drag.  
“This is funny, huh? Oh, my god... My poor book. Mr. London, I’m _so_ sorry.”  
Evan snickered into the pillows and Connor promptly hit him with the spine of the book, directly into his back.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> im a beacon of sin i literally spent two hours writing a character study that turned into 3k words of smut
> 
> leave me a comment im thirsty as fuck
> 
> thank u
> 
> *Mr. London is a call to the author of Connor's book, The Call of the Wild (by Jack London)
> 
> *Palo Santo, as used by Connor, are sticks of dry wood usually burned and left to smoke to cleanse a room of bad energy
> 
> *Connor's mini-altar at the far side of the room is used for witchcraft, which is why he jokes that he "curses his enemies" there
> 
> *In case anyone wondered, Connor smokes Marlboro Smooths.


End file.
